"The end is adventurous, and full of joy"
A number of people close to me have had to deal with death recently. Some of them for loved ones that were quite close to them. What is it about losing someone close to you that automatically makes you dwell on your own mortality? Is that natural? I certainly hope so.
There have only been 2 deaths that have touched me closely in my life (for which I consider myself very fortunate). The first was my grandmother, who's final words were the quote at the title of this entry. She was an amazing woman who led an amazing life, much of which I didn't even know about until she was already gone. I often wish very much that she had been able to stay a bit longer to see me grow into someone much more positive than the child she tried to shelter and spoil. To meet the woman who would become my wife (although she did see a picture only a week or two before passing, and she smiled at it in approval). I wish she could have met her grandsons and played with them, hugged and kissed them, and had them play with that little flab of skin that hung from under her bicep that I always thought was a great toy.
But that is way of life isn't it? We miss those we love and have left us not for their sakes, but for ours. We miss their presence, even when we know they are in a better place now. We miss sharing our days and our lives and our holidays and our special times with them, even when we know they have lived full, extraordinary lives. We want to cling them to us forever, and know that we can't, and that we shouldn't. We all have our parts to play in this fragile tapestry (and what small parts we truly are), and we fight with all of our might, technology, prayer, and beings to resist that final rest and (hopefully) everlasting reward.
My grandmother and I shared the same birthday. So every year for OUR birthday she would take me someplace special that we could share it. Farrels Ice Cream parlor, Bianchi's Pizza, something. It was one of those great experiences that I will treasure until we are re-united. When she was called I was unsure how to say goodbye, until I found a song that reflected the sentiments of my heart. The song is called "So Wonderful" by a group called Undercover. If this blog were on my own server space I would link it so you could hear its message (and risk all sorts of copy-rights issues), but its chorus sings, "...Aren't you so happy to be free, and flying in the air. So Wonderful". That is how I chose to say goodbye. And remember, when you think of your loved ones who have passed on, they can hear you (ancient African proverb).
The only other death that was close to me was a college friend. He was very much like a younger brother to me. A kindred spirit in our faiths and love for the glory of sport. He was struck down by Chrone's disease of all things at the tender age of 23. It was one thing to say goodbye to someone who had lived a long and amazing life, but another thing entirely to see someone called away before they had seen even a third of what this life has to offer. How could that happen? Why did that happen? And why does it seem that the best of us are called away so early when so many others we could do without . . . . .
I was never able to find a satisfactory answer to questions like these. For his farewell I choose again a song that reflected my heart, "Heaven's So Far Away" by The Offspring. That was and is what I felt, and I still have no answers. But I can accept that I am finite and ignorant, and that I just miss my friend. I hope I do him justice, and that I don't let him down with the life I lead. The life that he was never able to experience and share.
Today at work we saw another spirit leave this world. This one by his own choice as he immolated himself. As is my tradition when we are unable to save a life I stopped by the chapel before leaving the building, and spent some time intercessing for that soul. I've had a number of other souls to intercede for recently, friends of friends, friends of family, and even a direct blood relative. And I pray that they are all at rest and enjoying that everlasting reward (at least one of them I am certain is enjoying it, and is probably laughing at me now). I pray that I am able join them in that celebration when my time comes, and that I do not disappoint them with my words and deeds every day. I also hope that when my time comes, someone will think fondly of me, and I will hear them.
That is my hope, and my prayer, but I am not at all anxious about it. In part I am certain that my life is good (it has a great balance of trials/tribulations and blessings). For another I am still young and optimistic (and perhaps still clinging to that veil of immortality that young people seem to pull over their eyes). But the most influential reason I do not fear my mortality is because my grandmother has already prepared me for it.
"The end is adventurous and full of joy." I can handle that.
There have only been 2 deaths that have touched me closely in my life (for which I consider myself very fortunate). The first was my grandmother, who's final words were the quote at the title of this entry. She was an amazing woman who led an amazing life, much of which I didn't even know about until she was already gone. I often wish very much that she had been able to stay a bit longer to see me grow into someone much more positive than the child she tried to shelter and spoil. To meet the woman who would become my wife (although she did see a picture only a week or two before passing, and she smiled at it in approval). I wish she could have met her grandsons and played with them, hugged and kissed them, and had them play with that little flab of skin that hung from under her bicep that I always thought was a great toy.
But that is way of life isn't it? We miss those we love and have left us not for their sakes, but for ours. We miss their presence, even when we know they are in a better place now. We miss sharing our days and our lives and our holidays and our special times with them, even when we know they have lived full, extraordinary lives. We want to cling them to us forever, and know that we can't, and that we shouldn't. We all have our parts to play in this fragile tapestry (and what small parts we truly are), and we fight with all of our might, technology, prayer, and beings to resist that final rest and (hopefully) everlasting reward.
My grandmother and I shared the same birthday. So every year for OUR birthday she would take me someplace special that we could share it. Farrels Ice Cream parlor, Bianchi's Pizza, something. It was one of those great experiences that I will treasure until we are re-united. When she was called I was unsure how to say goodbye, until I found a song that reflected the sentiments of my heart. The song is called "So Wonderful" by a group called Undercover. If this blog were on my own server space I would link it so you could hear its message (and risk all sorts of copy-rights issues), but its chorus sings, "...Aren't you so happy to be free, and flying in the air. So Wonderful". That is how I chose to say goodbye. And remember, when you think of your loved ones who have passed on, they can hear you (ancient African proverb).
The only other death that was close to me was a college friend. He was very much like a younger brother to me. A kindred spirit in our faiths and love for the glory of sport. He was struck down by Chrone's disease of all things at the tender age of 23. It was one thing to say goodbye to someone who had lived a long and amazing life, but another thing entirely to see someone called away before they had seen even a third of what this life has to offer. How could that happen? Why did that happen? And why does it seem that the best of us are called away so early when so many others we could do without . . . . .
I was never able to find a satisfactory answer to questions like these. For his farewell I choose again a song that reflected my heart, "Heaven's So Far Away" by The Offspring. That was and is what I felt, and I still have no answers. But I can accept that I am finite and ignorant, and that I just miss my friend. I hope I do him justice, and that I don't let him down with the life I lead. The life that he was never able to experience and share.
Today at work we saw another spirit leave this world. This one by his own choice as he immolated himself. As is my tradition when we are unable to save a life I stopped by the chapel before leaving the building, and spent some time intercessing for that soul. I've had a number of other souls to intercede for recently, friends of friends, friends of family, and even a direct blood relative. And I pray that they are all at rest and enjoying that everlasting reward (at least one of them I am certain is enjoying it, and is probably laughing at me now). I pray that I am able join them in that celebration when my time comes, and that I do not disappoint them with my words and deeds every day. I also hope that when my time comes, someone will think fondly of me, and I will hear them.
That is my hope, and my prayer, but I am not at all anxious about it. In part I am certain that my life is good (it has a great balance of trials/tribulations and blessings). For another I am still young and optimistic (and perhaps still clinging to that veil of immortality that young people seem to pull over their eyes). But the most influential reason I do not fear my mortality is because my grandmother has already prepared me for it.
"The end is adventurous and full of joy." I can handle that.
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